Beaker’s first thought was he’d killed Animal. Then he remembered all the times Animal had been blown up over the years and started to worry he’d hit Animal. He’d seen Animal eat a blackjack table in Vegas once when management tried to kick him out. The National Guard had been called.

Animal’s eyes appeared over the edge of an overturned table and blinked slowly, twice. His face was dark with soot from the shotgun blast and the lights were out, so all Beaker saw were these big white orbs floating in space, blinking.

Well, what the fuck? You’ve got one leg in, might as well jump.

Beaker pumped the shotgun and fired into Animal’s leering face, scuttling sideways like a crab towards the curtained patio window. Animal bounded after him, shouting “MUNN-EEE!” in a hoarse, barking voice. What was the fucker made of? Beaker emptied the last three shells into the smoldering muppet and screamed, “Meeeeep mpmpmp!” as he threw the empty gun at the charging ex-drummer and dove through the curtains and closed window.